


Things we Lost in the Fire

by Emelye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: His name is Harry and he’s the headmaster at a local boys preparatory. He’s 33 years old, average height and build, loves history, and has lovely, sandy brown hair. He smiles easily, has compassion writ large in his eyes and his cologne isn’t terrible.





	

His name is Harry and he’s the headmaster at a local boys preparatory. He’s 33 years old, average height and build, loves history, and has lovely, sandy brown hair. He smiles easily, has compassion writ large in his eyes and his cologne isn’t terrible.

His hand is warm when Sherlock allows himself to take it.

“A pleasure.”

Sherlock smiles pleasantly and focuses on the minutia of Harry’s appearance to drown out the ever-present ticker of comparisons to John playing in the back of his brain.

His shoes are canvas, smart-casual, newer. The sweater vest is a bit retro, the plaid of his shirt looks soft and worn, a bit of wear around the collar suggesting he regularly has stubble, though he’s clean-shaven now. 

He likes dogs.

Angelo shows them to his usual table and if he’s surprised that Sherlock is not with John, he keeps that thought to himself, only bringing a candle and not commenting on the auspices of the occasion.

Harry’s tie is plum colored. Sherlock rather likes that color.

“I’m not like other people,” Sherlock hazards. “I don’t do this.”

Harry smiles. His eyes, kind, always so kind. “No, I don’t expect you have much time, what with crime solving and all. Me neither, for what it’s worth. But you seem like a man who could stand for something in his life to be easy.”

Sherlock averts his eyes, concerned sentiment was making him as obvious as his brother always warned him he would be. “And you? I doubt anyone would tell you you’re getting the better end of the bargain.”

Harry smiles coyly and traces a finger over Sherlock’s knuckles where they lay on the table, the skin more scarred and weathered and experienced than any other part of him. “I’m not one to take advice. But if I were, it _might_ be I’m looking for a challenge.”

Sherlock swallows. “Well, then.”

Dinner is a surprisingly relaxed affair. When they agree to share a taxi, there is no doubt in Sherlock’s mind where things are headed. He spares a necessary moment staring out the window to grieve that he’s not, nor will he ever share this moment with John. John who he loved (loved? Loves.) so desperately, but who has cut himself off from Sherlock once and for all. 

But Harry is here. Warm, and real, and _kind_ and his for the having. And, Sherlock thinks, that could be enough. It will be enough. He can’t go on as he has, after all, drowning himself in work and cutting himself off from his friends, as though he could kill this piece that John grew within him. He _needs_ now, as he once needed only the Work and the drugs. Now there is this too. And so he steps out of the cab, and holds out a hand, and Harry takes it. 

They enter 221B together.

This is the hard part, Sherlock thinks. He closes his eyes against the feelings the familiar environment juxtaposed against the stranger in its midst stir within him. _This should be John_ , that traitorous voice whispers. _You are betraying him_. 

Sherlock opens his eyes. John hasn’t been here in months. He rescinded any claim over Sherlock he might have had with the words of his letter. 

Self-denial has never been Sherlock’s strong suit. 

And the blessings of his...friends. Molly, Gary, Mrs. Hudson have all played their own role in this evening, 

_“You deserve to be happy, Sherlock.”_

_“Met this bloke at the station, you might want to give him a call.”_

_“It’s not good for you to be so alone, Sherlock. I’ll be out this evening. There’s biscuits in the cupboard if you like.”_

The lips on his neck startle him into awareness, and Sherlock doesn’t resist, he entwines their fingers together.

He’d made a vow, and he had broken it, and he would not make another.

But life goes on, as it must. And if it was not the life he’d hoped for, perhaps it could still be a life worth having.

Sherlock takes Harry to bed.


End file.
